Treacherous Tremors
by MsIndieRock
Summary: Sherlock hasn't had a case in ages and is at a complete loss. Relief comes in the form of the young Anne Pier who is loaded with cash and in dire need of assistance. It looks like the end of Sherlock's problems, but for John it seems too good to be true.
1. Ms Pier's Problem

It was late. Sherlock had asked me for several peculiar items previously that evening; a box of fireworks, rubber bands, a copy today's paper, human hair, and milk. Hardly an errand to be filled at such an hour, but it was better than listening to him yelling at the telly or complaining about his lack of interest in existing. Such a bother, isn't it?

Despite his querulous state, he really was worrying me. There hadn't been a case in ages and I could see Sherlock's mind gnawing away at his patience. The past couple days he hadn't been speaking and rarely showed his face for more than a couple of minutes. He was either in his room or out. _Out..._It literally could have been anywhere. Tonight, however, he had emerged from his room with his blue robe slung carelessly over his pajamas, blathering about infomercials and experiments. This brought me here, to the sopping streets of London, bathed in a slippery coat of fresh rain.

My jacket was ruined. Leather, I had bought it at a small tailor while Sherlock was on one of his many missions. What remained looked like bleach had been spilled in blotchy patches all over the front, vaguely reminiscent of an orange-brown cow. Luckily, the lights of 221B Baker Street loomed only a block away, but as I trudged closer I noticed an unfamiliar car parked outside it.

"Oh, _what now,_ Sherlock?" I muttered irritably under my breath.

_One thing at a time, John.  
><em>

I came to a halt in front the handsome red roof of Speedy's, the homey coffee shop beside our flat, and confirmed my apprehension. Our carefully crafted door, with its elegant metal knocker and fine wooden structure, stood ajar.

I swallowed my heart.

"Mrs. Hudson?" I called, pushing past the door slowly.

I climbed up the worn crooked stairs, watching the framed archways, waiting for anything at all.

"Sherlock?"

I reached the top and was met by yet another vacant doorway. Instead of crashing through it and discovering the intruder, which I assumed to be Sherlock anyway, I merely glanced past it nervously.

In the reflection of the black windows opposite me, was a figure. Not the tall, slim silhouette I knew, but another, one I did not recognize.

Silently, I gripped the handle and raised my arm, wielding my shopping bags as a club. I took a deep breath and crept down the hallway to the living room, cringing with every step. I paused at the corner, trying desperately to make out the face of the reflection in the sitting room windows. They were now only feet away from where I stood. I could hear my heart blaring in my ears and my hands began to tighten on the plastic bags.

Just a little bit further now...

"John, what are-"

Without thinking, I whirled around and flung the shopping bags blindly at the voice, which completely set me off my balance. I stumbled backwards into the living room, unfortunately right into the path of the stranger behind me.

To my surprise, as I tripped over the coffee table and onto the hard wooden floor, the stranger yelped. The kind of high pitched squeal you might hear from a woman if she saw something particularly unpleasant, the complete opposite of the man I had swung at, now walking slowly towards me.

"Are you _mad_?" Sherlock said, clutching his forehead as a trail of red began to drip down his hollow cheeks.

He was dressed in his usual black, button-up jacket, which he must have changed into when I had left. I could tell he had been out again; his hair was wet and matted to his face, which was even paler than usual. Except for, of course, his nose, which had been turned a bright shade of pink by the chilling weather. Frankly, he looked rather ridiculous.

"Don't-" I spluttered, angrily, scrambling to my feet, "-sneak up on people like that!"

"I sneaked up on you?" Sherlock retorted, drawing himself up incredulously, "I simply walked up to you stalking my client."

"Client?" I said, now eying the frail young woman, who was cowering against the opposite wall, clutching her chest and whimpering.

"You have a case then?"

"Yes," He sighed, "And I was going to offer Ms. Pier some tea, but you seem to have knocked it all over the floor-

"And on me." He added disdainfully, looking down at his stained apparel.

"Sorry!" I said, begrudgingly. "I thought someone had broken in by the state of the door!"

"Y-yes," stuttered the woman, raising a small quivering hand, mascara dribbling down her puffy face, "I w-was in a h-hurry. S-sorry."

"It's quite alright Ms. Pier," Sherlock said, turning his back to me and ushering her to the armchair across from him, "Please, sit."

She did not move. The poor girl was trembling so violently that I could hear her teeth chatter. She, too, looked as though she had been outside, her baggy sweatshirt was sagging with water and her jeans were torn and soaked with dirt.

"Are you alright?" I asked, taking a step towards her.

"She's fine, John." Sherlock hissed, impatiently, "Just sit, Ms. Pier."

"She's hurt, Sherlock!" I exclaimed, gesturing to her swollen knees and twisted ankles, "I really think we should-"

Suddenly, she collapsed forward, clutching the edges of my jacket and sobbing uncontrollably.

Sherlock grumbled and threw himself onto the couch.

"Sherlock," I said, turning to him while still trying to steady Ms. Pier. "Do something!"

"Why!" Sherlock spat over her blubbering, "She's been like this ever since I found her pounding at my door. Took me at least 10 minutes to get her to come inside, and still all she does is cry, cry,_ cry_."

"He doesn't mean it," I muttered to her, trying to walk her to her seat, "He's just very impatient."

"I-I-I," She gasped, finally releasing me and falling back into the cushions, "I'm s-s-s-"

"Sorry?" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, "Yes, we know."

At that she wailed into her hands, and her breathing became even more convulsive. I sat on the arm of the chair and pulled a woven blanket over her shoulders.

"Calm down," I said to her softly, trying to quell her panic, "It's alright."

"N-no-" She started, but I quieted her; she was no use talking in this state anyway.

After a few minutes of deep breaths, and Sherlock sulking on the sofa, she finally came to.

"My name is-" she started slowly, Sherlock raising his head in interest. "Ann Pier."

"You're not from here," Sherlock muttered, perching his thumbs under his chin and folding his fingers in front of him. "America?"

"Yes!" She said, excitedly. "My brother and I… we're here on vacation."

"No parents with you? You seem a bit young to be traveling alone."

"Yes," She said again, nodding vigorously, "I'm 17 and my brother is 12. We came here with our father…"

Her eyes began to well with tears and I put a hand on her shoulder.

"They're gone," she cried, slumping forward and grabbing hold of my arm, "I don't know what to do."

"Gone?" I said, trying desperately to console her sorrow, "You mean they left you?"

"No!" She shrieked, panic rising once more in her voice, "They were taken… s-somebody took them."

Sherlock was staring at the young girl, his eyes widening with interest and enthusiasm. I could tell his mind was feverishly working, conjoining parts and fitting pieces, leaving me helpless with my hopelessly obtuse brain.

"These people…" He said in a low voice, almost to himself. "They tried to take you, too."

"They came in the m-middle of the night," She replied, rubbing at her face. "I-I was r-reading, and all of the sudden, the l-lights go out. E-everything just went out. They j-just came in and g-grabbed me. They grabbed a-all of us… took us outside… couldn't do anything."

"And?" Sherlock said, pressing her further.

"A-and," She continued, shaken. "The one h-holding m-me… he just-"

"Let you go."

"Yes," she nodded. "H-he said if I called the p-police, he would k-kill my family."

"So you came here?" Sherlock replied, nonchalantly. "How did you know to come here?"

"M-my dad, he told me about you," She said, her eyes gazing up at him as if he was an oracle. "Said if anything should happen, I-I should find you."

"If anything should happen?" Sherlock repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Why would your father say something like that on a vacation?"

"I don't know," she said, holding her head in anguish. "He was acting strange all week. Like something was bothering him…"

Sherlock sat silently, staring up at the cracked plastered ceiling, stifling a smile.

"Did they give you time?"

"W-what?" She quavered, perplexed.

"Time!" Sherlock shouted, suddenly standing up and pacing about the room. "Did they give you a time limit?"

"F-for what?" She said, her eyes following him. "Please, Mr. Holmes, they didn't say anything to me, besides what I've already told you!"

He then stopped in his tracks, the grin widening on his face.

"But he sent you here, didn't he?"

Sherlock walked swiftly towards me, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Anne.

"She is the time limit, John," Sherlock whispered, smiling broadly.

"What?" I said, and once again, Sherlock shot me that _look_. The look I knew meant he was mentally taking my face and slapping me for being so incomprehensibly slow.

"Think, John," he said, pulling me further from Anne, who was poking her head over the couch and peering avidly towards us. "If they really did have the intention of capturing the entire family, why on Earth would they let this child go, knowing full well she knew who and where to contact for assistance when going to the police was not an option?"

Then it came to me, the kind of feeling you get when you're riding on a bus and it goes over a sudden hill, plunging downwards. "She's bait?"

"Don't be so insensitive," Sherlock replied, yet still grinning like a child on Christmas morning, "She's far more than just bait. She's a puzzle, a clue. We find the captors before-"

"They take her too?"

"Yes, well," Sherlock said, straightening up, "hopefully it won't come to that."

"You really think she was sent here just to provoke you?" I muttered skeptically, shooting Anne a glance. Then a sudden thought occurred to me.

"You don't think… it's _him_… do you?"

"I don't know," Sherlock lowered his voice to a low hum. "I can't make any conclusions just yet. But if it is… _him_… what we are dealing with now is extremely dangerous. I suggest we get going on this as soon as possible, lest we run out of time."

"How much time do we have?"

Sherlock paused, and then he whispered. "Perhaps it is not time, John, but rather destination. I suspect whoever kidnapped Ms. Pier's family wants us to find them; otherwise there would have been no point in releasing her. The end of this game ends with them, or us."

"Either that or the clock hasn't started ticking quite yet," He added, turning to face our guest. "It's our move, John."

"Will you help me, Sherlock Holmes?" she sniffed, standing up and walking towards him imploringly.

"Ah, yes," Sherlock said, uncomfortably. "I'll do my best but I can't make any…"

She lunged at him, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes."

"Please, don't," Sherlock drawled, pushing her forcefully away from him. "My clothes are already stained from my faithful assistant. I don't need to add your… secretions."

At that, she flushed and quickly wiped her nose, sheepishly reaching into her pocket.

"Anyway, I can pay you…"

She pulled out a stack of American bills, wrapped in tightly bound paper. Anne held it out to Sherlock who did not budge.

"How much is that?" I said, taking the bound paper from her. "6,000 Pounds? We can't possibly accept this."

"Exactly," Sherlock said, snatching the money from my grasp and handing it back to her. "because I only accept payment when the job is fully complete. I can only guarantee to you that I will find your family…"

She beamed at him, but he added scornfully. "The only problem is that I can't guarantee I'll find them alive, which is what I am assuming you're paying me for."

The color drained from her face, but instead of crumpling up and weeping, she merely muttered dangerously. "Fine," and promptly turned for the door.

Sherlock and I looked at each other.

"Come on!" She shouted angrily, standing in the open threshold.

We hastily grabbed our coats from the iron hangers and started after her, until I hesitated.

"Come _on_!" She repeated, disappearing behind the blue chipped wood.

"Yes, _come on_, John!" Sherlock smiled, wrapping his blue-knitted scarf around his neck. "Don't want to be late for a good game."

"Sherlock, something's off."

I couldn't tell you why, but this was something deep seated, something I could just feel in pit of my stomach.

"I don't like this."

"Not to worry," Sherlock said, patting me heartily on the shoulder, "with all that cash she'll definitely pay for the cab fair."

"That's not what I meant!" but by the time the words had left my mouth, he was already trotting out the door.

I sighed and grimly followed them.

This will all end in tears.


	2. John Takes a Tumble

The pavement had ended at least 10 minutes ago. We were now hurtling down a foreign, dirt road, full of dips and mounds that rattled us to our core. We had long since stopped speaking, even Sherlock had shut his mouth, however, this was most likely due to the fact that if he _were_ to open his mouth, it would be immediately clamped down by a violent lurch from the cab. He was simply sitting, arms folded, staring through the trees that had replaced the grandiose structures of London. 

_How much longer?_

I pulled out my mobile phone.

_2:45 p.m._

"We're nearly there, Doctor Watson." Ann murmured, watching the short stretch of road that was illuminated by the driver's headlights. 

Ann was shoved between Sherlock and me in the back seat. She hadn't spoken a word the entire trip, she just stared pensively ahead. Her tears had dried up and now the only thing she seemed to find bearable in this silence was compulsively wringing her hands.

Sherlock had surely noticed. 

_She was getting nervous..._

That feeling in my stomach had not left me… her vacant eyes, the compulsive fidgeting, the beads of sweat forming on her brow. 

_What have we gotten ourselves into?  
><em>

"Here!" She blurted out to the driver, "Here is fine, thanks." 

The car came to a halt beside a gravely path that lead straight into a dense wood. She paid the driver, and we stepped out into the vacuous night. When the roar of the car had faded behind the deafening sound of bugs chirping and the occasional bout of leaves skidding across the pavement, Sherlock finally spoke.

"Right," He said, gazing up the narrow path, "lead the way then."

Ann nodded and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. Without a sound, she trudged off into the solid black canvas, the soaked ends of her jeans scraping together only a few feet ahead. Sherlock made to follow her, but I grabbed his shoulder.

"Sherlock," I whispered, staring after Ann, wondering if she was perhaps watching us through the thick wall of pine trees, "I know I'm repeating myself, but... this just... isn't _right."_

"I don't need you to tell me what's right and wrong, John," Sherlock frowned, "As if you really think I haven't worked this out on my own."

He shrugged me off and continued on into the darkness.

Sherlock was a smart man, I had seen this proven time and time again, yet, sometimes he let his desire for intrigue dictate his actions. I didn't know whether he really _did_ know what Ms. Pier's true motives were or if he was just enjoying the thrill of not knowing. I had my doubts; however, I couldn't ignore the fact that I_ always_ followed him. No matter the danger, I was there, and in an instant I was trotting along beside him once more. Perhaps, even_ I_ enjoyed the thrill of not knowing… 

_Right, now I've really lost it._

None of us could see each other properly in the night, only the vague outline from some unknown light. The noise from the crickets had faded and what was left was the dull sound of our footsteps on soggy leaves. The air held an icy ambiance and my jacket proved to be even more worthless then I imagined, although I hardly noticed the cold through my growing paranoia. In this kind of empty darkness, even the faintest of sounds can make your mind wonder. At the tiniest rubbing of branches above me or the snap from some far off twig, made my hair stand on end. Occasionally, I would brush the back of Sherlock's shoes to assure myself he was still with me; that I wasn't simply walking alone, lost on some unfamiliar path.

Then, suddenly, I was falling. The next step forward had plunged downward and I heard the sharp squeak of my shoes against metal, and then rest of me coming down and breaking them.

"_John!_" A voice shouted from above, "John, are you alright?"

I hadn't fallen very far- 8 feet, maybe less. The ground was some sort of vent in which I could hear the trickle of running water. Besides a slight scrape on my face and a gash on my side I seemed to be perfectly healthy, except for the prominent, forceful tremors coming from beneath me my feet. There was splashing from the bars below, different from the occasional gurgles in the water. Then, for a moment, I almost thought I heard a voice, a faint echo, bouncing along until it faded into nothing. I stood very still and listened, my hands feeling the sharp iron filter under my crumpled legs.

"_John?"_

"Yeah," I answered, disheveled, "I think I'm alright. Just pull me out of here."

A hand reached down, I latched on and in a moment I was back onto the slippery dirt floor. Sherlock and I stood up, brushing ourselves off while Ann's footsteps approached.

"Watch out for that," Ann said nervously, leaning over the edge of the hole. "There may be more."

"Oh, '_watch out for that'_ great advice!" I muttered sarcastically while we progressed further down the path, "I'll be sure to remember that next time I decide to fall into a ditch."

"Come now, John," Sherlock laughed, nudging me through his trench coat, "When did you become so pessimistic?"

"You're one to talk-"

"Here we are," Ann cut in, coming to a halt in front of an old house sitting in the middle of a clearing.

It was rather run down; the grey paint was chipping, exposing large patches of swollen wood. A single porch light gleamed in the darkness, illuminating an abundant amount of bugs swarming around it. It was a simple house, small and quaint, yet strangely vacant, as if no one had ever really owned it.

"Lovely," Sherlock breathed, "Now, since I've followed you all the way here without hardly a word, you wouldn't mind answering a few questions for me, would you?"

Ann turned on the spot, staring at Sherlock. "Won't you at least come have a look?"

"Of course." Sherlock replied, shortly. "We can talk while I observe." He strode past Anne and towards the front door, "This for starters... This light." Sherlock pointed up at the flickering, buzzing bulb.

"So?" Ann said defensively, folding her arms in front of her, "What about it?"

_"So..."_ Sherlock scoffed, annoyed, "So, it doesn't really fit in with your whole, '_the lights went out'_ story, does it?"

"The lights did go out!" Ann shouted, quickly, "The porch light isn't connected to the same generator-"

"Exactly," Sherlock interjected with alacrity, opening the front door and examining it's shattered exterior, "So, what is it connected to? Perhaps a home security system?" 

"It can't be," I said, joining Sherlock's side, while Ann stood quietly in the darkness, "She said the lights went out and then the intruders arrived. If that light _and_ a security system were connected to a separate generator then an alarm would have gone off."

"Right you are, John," Sherlock muttered, crouching down and peering into the hole where a door knob should have been, "and surely someone kicking down a door would have been enough to set off any _existing_ alarm. Except, the security system here isn't for the house, it's for the property."

"Then how come an alarm isn't going off?" I asked, searching the house for some sort of sign, "We came onto this lot and nothing has happened."

"Yes..." Sherlock murmured, excitedly, "Yes... that is interesting. I believe Ms. Pier can explain that."

Ann shuffled her feet nervously and muttered, "I don't know what you mean."

"Fine," Sherlock sighed, "I'll explain."

He vaulted off the porch and walked swiftly back across the lawn. My eyes followed his outline and the sound of his splashing footsteps.

"Watch closely," Sherlock said, pointing off into the thick forest.

I stared into the trees, squinting through the darkness, taking note of every sound and every form of movement that might be lurking within the night.

_Nothing..._

"Sherlock, I don't see anything." I said, feeling rather stupid.

"No, not yet," I could almost hear Sherlock's smirk, "Ann made sure no one but her could see this." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver. I could see it glinting finely through the opaque night as Sherlock held it high above his head. "But, unfortunately, she isn't dealing with amateurs."

There was a faint click, and suddenly, rising from the night, came lights. Small, red, lights, but extremely bright, scattered in a neat circle all the way around the house, sitting just beyond the lawn.

"They're sensors. If anyone comes in, these will be the first to detect it."

"How... did you..." Ann spoke weakly, her hands immediately going to her pockets and searching for the missing device.

"Oh, please," Sherlock sneered, turning towards her with displeasure, "With all your _clinging_ and _theatrics_ back at the flat it was quite easy to take this from you."

Ann opened her mouth to object, but Sherlock continued.

"The alarm is still active even when the lights are off," Sherlock muttered, illuminating the woods once more, "This tool is simply to let the user know where to step, but not how to disable. The lie about the power going out was a rather feeble attempt to make me _assume_ that any security system you had was already disabled, thus how the assailants arrived undetected. However, in this case, there was a second generator containing the security system."

He peered across the sea of eerie lights and added softly, "The sensors are too close to maneuver three unknowing people between them. There must be space that only Ann, the user, would know about even without the lights being visible."

I scanned the landscape, perching avidly atop the porch, counting every single gleaming sensor, until I saw it.

"There, Sherlock!" I said, pointing into the night. "Back the way we came."

There was a small gap crossing a section slightly off the gravel pass, maybe a sensor or two missing, almost invisible among the tightly knit pattern.

"The pit..." Sherlock stated, plainly. "Of course there wouldn't be any, there would be no place to put them. You led us there on purpose."

Sherlock paused, "Which makes it equally odd that the alarm wasn't activated from the intruder before us. Don't you think? Unless the intruder already knew how to get past the alarm..."

Ann was silent, I could see her choked breath rising up like thick, billowy smoke. The next thing she did sent chills down my spine.

"Is that good enough?" She whispered, seemingly to herself, "You said he just had to say that."

I could see Sherlock tense at this and I could feel my own heart beginning to race. Something in her manner had changed, I almost sensed relief in her and yet a deep feeling of dismay. There was something dreadfully wrong.

"So, Sherlock Holmes," She breathed, her voice quivering with panic, "Tell me... who you're thinking of... who did this to me? Who broke into this house tonight?"

Sherlock did not speak, and with the growing silence I could see Anne trembling more violently.

"Please, tell me!" She begged, her voice breaking, every muscle quivering.

"Tell you?" Sherlock replied leisurely, with sudden culmination, "Or tell _him?_"

Suddenly, Ann collapsed, sobbing madly.

"I can go now, right?" Ann cried, desperately turning about for some invisible person, "You said that was all! Let me go... please..."

"You-" I shouted in disbelief, staring at the pathetic heap on the ground, "You brought us all the way out here... just to betray us?"

Ann was not listening. She was rocking back and forth, weeping pleas under breath, going forth into a crest fallen lament that was almost comical. I cringed with revulsion at the sight of her.

_How dare she play us for such fools?_

"John..." Sherlock muttered, gazing up at me through the darkness.

"What?" I spat, still seething.

_"Run!"_

Then I heard it, a sudden creak from the shadowy house behind me.

Before I had time to react, I was struck, hard, on the head. I didn't feel it at first, except a depressing force and the flash of bright sparks beneath my eyelids. Then, mind numbing pain. My jaw went slack and I could feel myself teetering on the porch, trying to blink away the stars. I thought I could hear someone far away shouting, I couldn't recall who. All was clouded by the slowly descending darkness.

Out of the blue, a figure came to my aid in front of me, grabbing hold of my arm while I hung limply off the side of some sort of edge.

_ "John..."_ The voice was foggy, entering my mind one letter at a time, _"Hold on..."_

Then there was a deafening thud above me, and the hand relaxed in mine. With my last ounce of consciousness my fingertips grazed his sleeve, frantically trying to grasp onto something to steady me, however, they were soon met with open air.

I was falling.


End file.
